A Study in Situations
by KCS
Summary: Drabble series. Using a LiveJournal prompt table, 100 situations in exactly 100 words each. Multiple POVs and genres, nonslash, no particular time frame, no particular order. Rated for room to play. Prompt #69 - Faint.
1. Finger

**_Prompt #1: Finger_**

* * *

"You find this to be amusing, Doctor," he accused crossly.

"I never said so. Hold still; you don't want this to be too tight or it will restrict circulation," I replied patiently, gradually unrolling the adhesive bandaging as I wrapped it around his index and middle fingers to immobilize them. "Though you have to admit, the most brilliant mind in London shutting his hand in a door is rather…remarkable."

"I shan't be able to play my violin for a fortnight," he moaned sadly, gazing at his incapacitated fingers.

Well, one good thing would come of his carelessness, at any rate.


	2. Bad

**_Prompt #2: Bad_**

* * *

The dreamy dark veil of sleep fluttered and lifted, allowing an abrupt icy chill past the mists into my senses. I started apprehensively, attempting to force my heavy eyes open into wakefulness with a murmured question.

Before I could reach that state of awareness, a heavy covering banished the cold and settled warmth in its place, enveloping me.

"Go back to sleep, Watson," a voice filtered gently through my muddling senses.

"Mmm?"

"It's the worst snowstorm to hit London in ten years; the temperature is already well below freezing and still plummeting."

How ridiculous – I was perfectly snug and warm.


	3. Intelligence

**_Prompt #3: Intelligence_**

* * *

"Holmes, you are being remarkably stupid."

The detective's flushed, scowling face twisted as he shook off my hand, struggling into his still-damp overcoat. I patiently allowed him to thrash futilely for five minutes, reaching to catch him when he swayed dizzily, putting a trembling hand to his head.

"You know, a hypochondriac is someone who believes himself to be ill when he is actually healthy," I pondered, opening my bag after he reclined upon the settee. "I wonder what the profession calls a person who insists he is healthy when he is ill?"

"A Doctor-murderer," Holmes growled around the thermometer.


	4. Announce

**_Prompt #4: Announce_**

* * *

I was drinking my coffee when Holmes announced he was declining His Majesty's offer of a knighthood, and in consequence became danger of drowning through astonishment.

"But it is such an honour!" I protested earnestly, quite proud that it had been offered to my friend.

He waved away my sentiments, calmly scanning his _Times_.

"But –"

Grey eyes flicked up from the agony column to meet mine, softening in a slight smile. "Watson. I cannot accept an honour for serving my country, when better men – one especially – than I have done more and received no recognition whatsoever. Pass the toast?"


	5. Day

**_Prompt #5: Day_**

* * *

Driven from his bed by the third night's horror, a shaken man crept into the sitting room. At the instant he entered, a hiss and glow shattered the quiet darkness. He jumped, not expecting a fellow insomniac. His friend, equally startled, murmured an apology before curling up commiserably in an armchair.

After a moment the other silently took the settee and proffered a match for the unlit pipe.

When at dawn Mrs. Hudson discovered her two lodgers sound asleep before a blank fireplace, uncharacteristically it was the Doctor who received the tongue-lashing for burning a hole in the carpet.


	6. Murder

**_Prompt #6: Murder_**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes gazed down at the small lifeless form with an expression of deep sorrow that stunned me, being accustomed to his callous and sometimes coldly clinical regard of death.

"The processes of nature are cruel sometimes," I offered quietly.

"Unjustly so." He remained in that position, eyes downcast, for a long moment of silence.

I put a hand upon his shoulder. "You could have done nothing."

"No…" he sighed in sad regret, blinking back up at me.

"I know, old man," I answered, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now come, we must get that stinger out of your hand."


	7. Sad

**_Prompt #7: Sad_**

* * *

Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes were presently engaged in a verbal fencing match that threatened to disrupt the Diogenes despite the soundproof Strangers' Room. The good-natured argument over an armchair case, escalated into a discourse on active detective work, grew rife with weight insults from the younger and cool superiority from the elder.

I stood awkwardly, watching the street below and listening to the brotherly bickering, and sadly remembered my own brother.

I was not certain whether to be flattered or frightened when, after a momentary lull, the two geniuses moved companionably to the window and continued arguing over my head.


	8. Plan

**_Prompt #8: Plan_**

* * *

"You told me you had a plan for this ridiculous escapade!" the Doctor hisses frantically as we crouch for cover behind a stack of crates.

I duck as a bullet splinters the wood beside my ear. "I did – this just was not a part of it!"

Surrounded in a warehouse, no help coming…yes, definitely not according to plan. Of course, his presence is not according to plan either, for I am unaccustomed to having a comrade on these ventures.

I am not certain the benefit of not having to watch my back is worth the responsibility of something going awry.


	9. Ill

**_Prompt #9: Ill_**

* * *

"I should return home and leave you to your misery, you know," I observed without a shred of sympathy.

"Watson…" Holmes was curled up under the blankets, clutching his stomach like a child having eaten too many sweets. "Can't you do _anything_?"

"I thought I only had limited experience, and mediocre qualifications?"

He winced visibly, and not from the pain of overindulging in too-solid food at Simpson's immediately following a three-day fast. "Touché," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Go, then, if you believe I truly meant that – could _ever_ mean that."

I merely smiled, handing him the sodium bicarbonate.


	10. Secret

**_Prompt #10: Secret_**

* * *

"Why did you not tell me about your brother's death, Doctor?"

He looked up from his work, eyes shadowed and pensive. "You were on the Continent at the time," he replied flatly.

"And you think I wouldn't have wanted to know?"

"Would it have made any difference to you or your work?" he whispered miserably, going back to his journal.

I frowned, wondering that myself; certainly I should not have returned from the case, but I believe I would have curtailed the ensuing formalities…

…wouldn't I?

I reached for my blackest clay pipe – re-evaluating priorities was certainly a three-pipe problem.


	11. Behind

**_Prompt #11: Behind_**

* * *

People wonder how those two can live together without murdering each other; half of us believe they're partly mad, and the other half that they're _completely_ so.

It's common knowledge that Mr. Holmes despises waiting for someone to catch up to him mentally or physically; but somehow he doesn't mind either, when it's the Doctor. And that puzzles the force more than any unsolved murder case.

But I know the answer: the Doctor may always be one step behind Mr. Holmes, but that one step is still a half-dozen closer than the rest of us can or will ever get.


	12. Want

**_Prompt #12: Want_**

* * *

Watson had half-jokingly asked him, the previous week, what he wanted for Christmas. Naturally, hating the holiday and all its manifestations, he had retorted that he wanted nothing other than peace and quiet, or else a murder to keep him occupied.

Then came this counterfeiting case, and its horrible consequences.

There _had_ been a murder, at least a near one, and now the house _was_ quiet and still. Deathly quiet.

As the detective miserably entered the hospital ward for another day's vigil, he finally admitted there was one thing he wanted more than what he had before so rashly nominated.


	13. Stranded

**_Prompt #13: Stranded_**

* * *

_Splosh_.

"Holmes, the expression 'put out the oars' does not usually entail putting them _completely overboard_."

"Oh, be quiet. I could hardly help dropping them in my being shot at, could I?"

"And consequently saving our quarry the trouble of murdering us, by just letting us drift on open sea instead. Much less messy a method of murder."

"Your florid alliterative skills grow worse when you're seasick."

"And your sarcasm more grating."

"Touché."

_Plipp_.

"Stop feeding your cigarette ends to the fish."

"I'm not hurting anything!"

"Besides my ears?"

_Splash_.

"Watson."

"What."

"Are your shoes getting wet like mine are?"


	14. Wealthy

**_Prompt #14: Wealthy_**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had been employed by countless royalties and governments, had secretly purchased the Doctor's Kensington practice, had even more secretly contributed a large anonymous wedding-day present, possessed enough cash to hand to retire and purchase any country estate he wished, and expended regularly an enormous amount of money upon concerts and anything else that captured his flighty fancy.

And yet, Watson mused, laughing as his friend yelped and dolefully regarded the new (seventh) burn mark in his sleeve, the man refused to discard his shabby dressing-gown for a new one.

The term "wealthy eccentric" had never seemed more apt.

* * *

_In Canonical defense, consider: FINA tells us that Holmes had enough cash due to his services to a reigning house (Switzerland, I believe, though I could be wrong and didn't look it up) and the French Government that he could at that point retire comfortably. In addition to this, when he returned in 1894, we know he bought Watson's medical practice at the first asking price. Add to this that he was able to retire comfortably by age 49, and I doubt he was quite such "a poor man" as he told the Duke of Holdernesse. Just my opinion._


	15. Marriage

**_Prompt #15: Marriage_**

* * *

"John thinks you might refuse to be his best man."

"Perhaps I might," he retorted, bitterly honest. "Are you here to request my good behaviour?"

Mary gave a rather unladylike snort. "I am not so foolish."

Holmes laughed despite himself.

"Mr. Holmes, I've no desire to destroy a relationship in order to build my own. Love cannot be taken from one person in order to be given to another," she continued softly, turning to leave, "only expanded to include both. You would do well to remember that."

The door closed, leaving a very thoughtful detective staring after a remarkable woman.


	16. Affected

**_Prompt #16: Affected_**

* * *

After three years of guilt and grief and regrets and constant danger, I was a haunted man; and for the same reasons, so was he, though unaware of the last.

"I owe you a thousand apologies; I'd no idea you'd be so affected." I truly had not, more because I refused to think of what he might have endured in my absence than at a sincere shock over his dropping in a dead faint.

What I did not tell him, as I helped him to collapse shakily into his chair, was that I'd no idea _I_ would be so affected.


	17. Long Hours

**_Prompt #17: Long Hours_**

* * *

I started from my doze to a quiet murmur and a gentle hand upon my shoulder.

"Doctor, if you intend sleeping I can recommend more comfortable places than cold stairwells."

His eyes flitted solicitously, deducing the fire and seven hours' work that had pushed me past midnight; then he took my hand and elbow, helping me stand. I winced, leaning heavily on him.

"Just got back myself," he groused. "Miserable evenings seem to be the common lot tonight. I suggest the sofa, dear fellow, rather than another flight. Shall I disturb you, playing my violin?"

I smiled. "On the contrary."


	18. Worthy

**_Prompt #18: Worthy_**

* * *

"What in _heaven's name_ were you _thinking_?"

He glared at me through one eye not swollen shut, his pain suffused by anger at my words; he could not know their harshness was due to fright rather than frustration with him.

"Last you sent me off to investigate for you, Holmes, you _told_ me to try public houses for information, and stressed my failure when I didn't!" he whispered unhappily.

My mouth snapped shut. I relapsed into the bedside chair, cursing softly, my head in my hands. He'd been trying to prove himself to me – this was my fault.


	19. Sinful

**_Prompt #19: Sinful_**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was furious, with his client and himself. How a man could have such gall, to employ the world's foremost detective to exonerate him from his own depravity, affronted his abilities. Even _he_ had been duped by so twisted a child-murderer.

In his angry ramblings, he did not realise his steps had unconsciously led to Kensington until he was standing outside a familiar door. It was nearly dinner-time… he had no desire to be alone with his thoughts right now…

Besides, there was _one_ place in this sordid city where he was assured the atypical goodness of human nature.


	20. Motivated

**_Prompt #20: Motivated_**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was doing the unthinkable.

Mrs. Hudson was gone on holiday. London's criminal populace appeared to have departed with her. He was hungry and destitute; there was no food in the house. He had broken an E string. A patient more generous with germs than fees had shared a nasty virus with Watson, who was dozing feverishly upstairs.

Holmes was bored, tired, cranky, and worried; though accustomed to the first three, those combined with the unusual fourth finally drove him to his current extreme.

Mary Morstan was quite shocked to find a rain-dripping detective fidgeting upon Mrs. Forrester's doorstep.


	21. Escape

**_Prompt #21: Escape_**

* * *

The crippled freighter now lay low in the harbor, seawater pouring into the hold. Sherlock Holmes was engaged in simultaneously spitting out brine and supporting a groggy physician, who had been knocked unconscious by the boiler explosion.

The detective eyed the single narrow hole while paddling one-handedly, perceiving a thin man could easily fit through the opening before the hold was submerged. After coming round as water filled their prison, Watson too instantly realised the fact.

Holmes was finally saved a hook to the jaw and a violent shove through the gap by the timely arrival of the water police.


	22. Punch

**_Prompt #22: Punch_**

_At some prodding from pebbles66 and others, a small answer to the LJ plot bunny issue; maybe a longer or different version eventually. _:)

* * *

Sherlock Holmes winced, seriously considering cursing his attendant, as the ice was applied to his swollen jaw.

"It's your own fault," the Doctor declared defensively. "Next time you don one of those horrible disguises _tell_ me first!"

"I was just _practicing_…" Holmes slurred blearily. "No idea you w'd try t' murder anyone that insult'd me."

Watson's eyes rolled eloquently as he repacked his supplies. "I didn't kill you, just knocked you down. Whatever happened to that precious Baritsu of yours? By rights you should have flung me into the nearest wall."

"Keep that infernal smugness, and I might try again!"


	23. Selfconscious

**_Prompt #23: Self-conscious_**

* * *

I started out of my reverie and removed my pipe from my mouth as he repeated the question.

"Do I look all right, Holmes?" He was fidgeting, nervous as a schoolboy, in the doorway of my bedroom.

"My dear Doctor, she's already agreed to marry you; I seriously doubt she will break off the engagement if you commit some fashion _faux pas_," I replied dryly.

"That's not the point!" he cried helplessly. "I mean – it's important –"

I finally took pity on the dear chap and smiled. "My gold cufflinks would look better with that suit. They're on my dressing-table."


	24. Kiss

**_Prompt #24: Kiss_**

* * *

Holmes paced around me toward his bedroom, glaring at me as if I had just performed the most desecratory of offenses to his person. I had done nothing of the kind!

It did not help matters that my fiancée sat calmly on the settee, giggling in high amusement at the situation.

"For heaven's sake, Holmes!" I expostulated, following him to the door. "If it bothers you so much, then knock before you come in next time!"

He scowled at me in a clear childish pout. "Can you not do your…_courting_….somewhere other than our shared sitting room?" he demanded in disgust.


	25. Graveyard

**_Prompt #25: Graveyard_**

* * *

Our quarry had escaped us in the fog, and we reluctantly turned back toward our inn, dodging headstones and watching for open graves.

I did not realise until it was too late that my friend had unaccountably been swallowed by the mists. I was alone. Understandably uneasy, I peered round and called out softly for him, but only the gloom answered silently.

Then, quite suddenly, I felt an icy hand brush against the back of my neck and clamp down hard, accompanied by a weird, unearthly moan.

Thank heaven my rather un-masculine scream was drowned out by Holmes's hysterical laughter.


	26. Mistake

**_Prompt #26: Mistake_**

* * *

Inspector Lestrade shook his head wearily and snapped the precautionary handcuffs closed; though judging from the ruffian's frantic clinging to his constables, he was not eager to go anywhere but to the waiting police ambulance.

"Sir, you picked a fight with the wrong man," the little official informed his prisoner with a wry sigh.

Two nearly-swollen-shut, beady eyes glared redly back at him. "I never touched 'im!" the man slurred painfully. "That other bloke last night, sure, 'e got in my way…but I never laid a finger on that Holmes chap!"

"_Exactly_. You picked a fight with the wrong man."


	27. Guard

**_Prompt #27: Guard_**

* * *

I had told Watson that he would find me a dangerous houseguest, and so I was; but together we would lower the risk that hovered around our every movements. _Our_, for he was in danger as well; he was unwittingly in as much danger as I. More, because since I had disappeared after their last attempt they well knew the surest way to bring me from hiding.

So, after ascertaining I had indeed lost them, I retraced my steps and spent the night in his consulting-room, only leaving at dawn when my Irregular had reached his post across the street.


	28. Flight

**_Prompt #28: Flight_**

* * *

This whole affair had been a mistake. Being incapacitated by a bullet that had lodged in my leg only crowned the failure. That, and the fact that I'd been stupid enough to allow my newest acquaintance to come along on the foolish venture. I certainly required no aid, and he was inept at illegal activities.

My opinion changed somewhat, when to my astonishment I found he was capable of simultaneously carrying me and popping off enough well-placed shots at our pursuers that they intelligently opted to retreat.

I no longer wondered how he was one of few who survived Maiwand.


	29. Caught

**_Prompt #29: Caught_**

_(exerpt adapted from a story written last night in an attempt to dissolve my writer's block, with thanks to PGF for the plot bunny)_

* * *

Holmes patted my hand and then sat back, defiantly glaring at the hospital staff; somehow I knew he had done this multiple times over the last nine days.

That impression strengthened when the burly doctor sighed tolerantly, not attempting to remove my friend; merely hauled him back from the bed, chair and all, despite the detective's squirming.

My weak laugh startled the physician. "Good to see you awake, young man," said he kindly.

"Indeed," the nurse chirped, admiringly glancing toward my scowling friend. "Now I can sweep under that chair. I was about to start dusting him, you know, Doctor."


	30. Drama

**_Prompt #30: Drama_**

* * *

My dear Watson is not a pleasant fellow when depressed. I am no expert, but lover's tiffs seem to be common amongst couples; however, to see him one would think his entire world had ended. He refused luncheon and sat with chin in hand, ignoring my (awkward) attempts at consolation.

It was for my peace of mind, not his, that I sent a note round to Miss Morstan (yes, I _am_ rather a good forger), accompanied by a spray of spring flowers.

By the time they unraveled the mystery, I was well out of earshot and reach, laughing at them.


	31. Rescue

**_Prompt #31: Rescue_**

* * *

Amazing, the speed with which the world could explode. One moment, careless converse in the summer evening. The next, a rumble of horse and cart careening 'round a corner, a mother's shriek, and his own horrified cry as his friend darted into the street after a petrified child.

His heart did not resume beating until the dust cleared. His stupidly heroic friend smiled unsteadily at the sobbing mother, patted the lad's head, and returned rather slowly.

He glared, not appreciating being frightened out of his wits by the idiot.

"What?" said idiot demanded. "Where is your sense of adventure, Watson?"


	32. Haunted

**_Prompt #32: Haunted _**

**_Sesquidrabble, not a drabble. Cross-posted to new LJ comm. Missing scene from just prior to my story _My Dear Watson.**

* * *

Because the fireside was a painfully lonely place to sit now, unless the rheumatism was especially crippling he spent his evenings walking along the chalky cliffs and the beach. Tonight was a lovely late summer evening; sapphire skies twinkling with a dusting of stars, the breeze laden with sea-salt and fragrant with flowers.

He paused in the old familiar place – _their_ place, where they had always stopped to watch the ocean in the evenings for so many years – and bowed his head. For an instant the ghost of an arm entwined in his own before the breeze ruffled his hair and swept away once more, leaving him alone with the bittersweetness of Memory.

Almost a year now, though it seemed like a lifetime. How he desperately hoped it would not be much longer!

Unfortunately, his sense of justice sadly recognised that one year did not balance the scales for three.


	33. Attentive

**_Prompt #33: Attentive_**

* * *

Rain had beaten the house into a soggy mess all night; he'd been woken time-and-again by cannon-explosions of thunder, and between that and the ache steadily eating its way through his limbs he was afraid an attempt to descend the stairs might result in a highly embarrassing tumble.

He closed his eyes miserably, only to open them again when powerful lungs shouted from below.

"Don't try to make those stairs; I'm bringing your breakfast up!" Holmes bellowed, the reverberation rattling the gas-jets. "What do you want on your toast?"

He had not expected to begin his day by laughing heartily.


	34. Honour

**_Prompt #34: Honour_**

* * *

Knocking the man down who'd blasphemed the British army had been the right thing to do. Taking a lucky facial blow was expected, being arrested by a well-meaning constable a minor annoyance, being booked for disturbing the peace regrettable. Not being recognised was upsetting, but none compared to the embarrassment of perceiving Sherlock Holmes transversing the corridor for him.

The handcuffs were unlocked, and Holmes motioned curtly. Face afire, he silently obeyed. One poisonous glare from chilled-steel eyes murdered all police-whispering as they entered the cab.

He kept his burning face downcast until an unexpected hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.


	35. Notice

**_Prompt #35: Notice_**

* * *

Having been preoccupied with an armchair case from Hopkins, the thought never occurred to Holmes that he hadn't seen his ridiculously over-working friend in two days, until he blinked uneasily up from the agony column one morning and saw the opposite chair uncharacteristically vacant, again.

He slept in the next morning, Watson noticed absently as he prepared to leave. Then he discovered a note affixed to his overcoat lapel.

_Watson,_

_Luncheon in the Strand? Regardless, have a good morning._

_-H_

The Doctor smiled, shutting the door behind him, for he was quite sure that he was going to have one.


	36. Hit

**_Prompt #36: Hit_**

* * *

The wound was not as bad as had been feared originally, and an hour later he had regained consciousness to see the two people he loved most in the world entering the room.

He smiled as his wife rushed to his side and Holmes hovered awkwardly near the door – then his eyes widened.

"What on earth happened to you?"

Holmes coughed. "Nothing of consequence."

Mary Watson glared fondly at the detective. "A man out there was rather rude to me, dear. Mr. Holmes was kind enough to knock him down, since you were not present to do so."

"Oh, Holmes…"

--

_"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and **Mathews**, **who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross**..."_

_- The Empty House_


	37. Walk

**_Prompt #37: Walk_**

* * *

From the moment infant Sherlock overturned his bassinet at the tender age of eight-weeks, Mycroft Holmes had distastefully acknowledged that little brother was destined to always be moving. His prognosis was not disappointed. Sherlock never walked where was space to run, never waited upon slower classmates, and chafed impatiently whenever the slightest delay upset his ever-so-busy schedule. Even in adulthood, so rapidly did the man move that life itself sometimes was lost behind.

Now he watched through the cab-front, as his brother walked sedately, keeping a cautionary hand at his friend's elbow while crossing the chaotic thoroughfare.

And he smiled.

* * *

_"How did you get here?"_

_"I passed you in a hansom."_

- _The Greek Interpreter_


	38. Defenseless

**_Prompt #38: Defenseless_**

* * *

_This is the singularly most unintelligent thing I have done recently_ was his foremost thought. Being trapped this close to home in a side-street by three common, though quite dangerous, roughs was positively galling. Even his formidable skills were no match for a long-handled dagger and thick clubs.

Just as he swallowed his pride to call for a policeman, a fourth figure slipped from the alley. "Had I known you were being attacked, I'd have brought my revolver," he heard in a tense but blessedly familiar undertone as his retreating back collided reassuringly with another's.

Weapons, pfft. Who needed them?


	39. Blackout

**_Prompt #39: Blackout_**

* * *

I was hazily aware of my name being spoken, several times, each slightly louder – and clearer – than the first. Finally I blinked my muddled eyes to see the plaster of our sitting-room ceiling and the worried face of Sherlock Holmes. He hastily placed a steadying hand behind my back as I sat up, rubbing my head.

"My dear Watson," chided he with a frown, "the next time you decide to ignore that you are quite ill, I should appreciate it if you would not frighten me half to death by tumbling over at the breakfast table, there's a good chap?"


	40. Slip

**_Prompt #40: Slip_**

* * *

He would never forget that first time they were working _incognito_ and he ruined the charade with a hastily-shouted "Look out, Holmes!" as a barrel broke from its moorings, thundering toward his new-found friend. They barely escaped in the ensuing uproar his blunder caused.

Furious at three days' work being destroyed (even if the rash warning had probably saved his life), Holmes finally stormed off in the nearest cab once they lost their pursuers. He was left on the dark street, in a city not yet familiar after years abroad.

But the solitude was not why he felt so alone.


	41. Wrong

**_Prompt #41: Wrong (by popular demand, continuance of the last)_**

* * *

He had already thrown his disguise across his bedroom, bathed, and consumed too much tobacco, before he remembered that the night's performance had involved leaving all identification and money behind, so that common labourers would not possess more than customary currency.

He had left a man in the heart of the East End, in a thunderstorm, without funds or identification, in a costume no gentleman would wear (thus gathering no aid from passers-by)…and the man was only seven months back from Afghanistan, without thorough knowledge of London's geography or its dangers.

Damp overcoats were _so_ unpleasant to put back on.


	42. Luck

**_Prompt #42: Luck (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

After two hours and six narrow escapes from thugs or ladies of the night, he was desperately denying the admission that he was growing _worried_.

For five blocks in each direction of that dangerous district, he had scoured the dark, rain-lashed alleys as only Sherlock Holmes could. But after another forty-five minutes of fruitless searching, he could not remember feeling this frantic before in his entire life.

He had never believed in Providence or Luck. But one or the other smiled upon him through the downpour, for he warily turned a shadow-drowned corner and ran straight into drenched, limping figure.


	43. Strong

**_Prompt #43: Strong (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

Judging from the gasp he heard over the rain, they had both been equally startled. He thought he recognised the cloth cap, but it was the sudden flash of lightning that confirmed his hopeful conjecture.

"Watson!" His voice was harsh with the damp and strain. The arm he had grabbed for, pulling the man back against the safety of a solid brick wall, suddenly stiffened, and he started as two obviously shivering hands clamped down upon his own.

"Holmes? Is th-that you?"

He did not need the lightning to reveal that his newest – only – friend was frightened half to death.


	44. Nonsense

**_Prompt #44: Nonsense (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

He could barely hear the rapid breathing but could definitely feel the trembling.

"Easy now, old fellow," he murmured, casting anxiously about for any rabble lounging in the alleys. The rain would keep the worst of the trouble indoors, but they could not linger. "Watson, are you all right?"

"I…y-yes, I'm fine," He heard a breathless sigh of relief as he pulled his shivering friend closer. "I am afraid…I got quite lost…I've no idea where I am, Holmes." The hands tightened momentarily. "I am s-so glad to see you."

To his unaccountable surprise, he found the feeling was mutual.


	45. Ashamed

**_Prompt #45: Ashamed (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

They had not gone half-a-dozen halting paces before he realised something was wrong. Once they reached a thoroughfare that actually had street-lamps, he pulled them into the shelter of a dingy shop-doorway.

"Really, Holmes, I am fine," Watson protested weakly in answer to a pointed inquiry. "I've…just been walking for three hours…and I fell once, s-slipped on some wet, loose stones."

In deep self-disgust, his hand clenched on the shivering man's arm. "I have no idea what I was thinking, leaving you alone in that area," he whispered miserably.

"You were angry, and rightfully so…"

"That is absolutely no excuse!"


	46. Complain

**_Prompt #46: Flight (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

The subsequent futile argument was cut short when Watson began coughing harshly, being wet and chilled through as well as exhausted and in pain. The man was not in the best of health anyway, he suddenly remembered with an aching stab of contrition, and he lost no time in hurrying them to a more traversed street.

He had not thought it possible to feel guiltier about the entire mess he had made by his inconsideration – that was, until they splashed through an ankle-deep puddle and Watson made not a sound of complaint, only shivered and clung tighter to his arm.


	47. Swear

**_Prompt #47: Swear (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

He had only been concerned before – but now he was quite alarmed at how he was supporting a good portion of the doctor's weight, what there was of it. The man was limping heavily and had not ceased to shake with the cold and exhaustion; and, though he would never admit, no doubt with residual fear at being left in an unfamiliar and highly dangerous city near midnight in a torrential downpour.

When his weary companion stumbled in the darkness, giving a soft murmur of pain, he cursed the storm's fury and leaned closer rather than bellowing over the thunder.


	48. Discover

**_Prompt #48: Discover (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

"Watson, talk to me," he ordered gently, seeing that though they had reached lit streets there was not a vehicle in sight. "What did you do for three hours?"

"Walked," came the terse, if faint, response. "Tried to…s-stay out of sight. Why aren't there more p-policemen patrolling those areas?"

"They are spread too thin as it is," he agreed and frowned, pulling them hastily from under a sudden slosh of dirty gutter-water. "I foresee even more problems in that district if – halloa, thank heaven! Lean up against this railing for a moment, old chap, whilst I chase down that four-wheeler."


	49. Assist

**_Prompt #49: Assist (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson had wakened by the door-slam earlier, and now arose from her dozing when it closed behind them. Despite Watson's increasingly feeble protests that he was only wet and tired, she soon had him upstairs preparing for a hot bath; leaving Holmes cringing, feeling even worse than before.

Half-past two chimed by the time he helped his exhausted friend into the sitting room; another flight of steps was an obvious impossibility. Guilt prompted the offer of his own bed, but was rejected with a laugh about the portraits staring down, and the smell of thick tobacco-smoke in the linens.


	50. Breathe

**_Prompt #50: Breathe (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

Watson was nearly out when he returned with enough blankets to bed a regiment. Then, dumbfounded, he stared as he received a sleepy murmur of thanks for tucking them in, rather than a demand for an apology as the situation justly warranted.

He opened his mouth anyway, pride be hanged, but was halted by a small yawn and rhythmic breathing. Blinking, he tapped a puzzled finger upon pursed lips.

Then his mystification shattered with a forceful – and painful – sneeze from deep within his lungs. He was still drenched.

Well, it would serve him right were he to develop pneumonia, anyhow.


	51. Burn

**_Prompt #51: Burn (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

It was not pneumonia, but it was nearly as bad.

Watson woke lazily, feeling much improved and, in fact, rather cozy. He found himself cocooned by a pile of comfortable blankets, and Sherlock Holmes curled up in an armchair beside the settee – burning with fever and uneasily dozing under the thinnest of said blankets.

Horrified, he spent the rest of that day and a good portion of the next three trying to repair the damage caused by a troubled consulting detective's being so positively miserable that he had neglected to care for himself after his friend had been made comfortable.


	52. Crisis

**_Prompt #52: Crisis (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

The evening of the fifth day saw the danger over and a stubborn consultant arguing with an even more stubborn physician about _getting the blazes out of bed_. Holmes was too weak to contradict Watson's dogged insistence that the case had done without him for five days, it could very well do without him for one more; and Watson was too kind-hearted to physically sit on his obstinate patient.

They at last compromised upon their customary chairs before the fire, finally addressing the problem that had haunted the edges of Holmes's fever-dreams, though he was not aware of the fact.


	53. Administer

**_Prompt #53: Administer (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

That he accepted Watson's hot lemon-water prescription without a complaint maddened his sensibilities, but he was too miserable to rectify the decline in his self-sufficiency. Finally the doctor collapsed exhaustedly into the chair opposite, and he noticed in the fire-glow that the man looked perfectly dreadful, as if he had not slept for several days – which was probably quite accurate, if he had indeed been ill for nearly a week.

He had not the strength to prolong the conversation with such observations, however, and hurried to the highest priority. "Doctor, I must offer you my sincerest apologies," he rasped hoarsely.


	54. Awkward

**_Prompt #54: Awkward (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

"I've no idea what I was thinking. In my defense, I am unaccustomed to having to remember there is another person to consider during these cases of mine…" He trailed off due to a forceful sneeze.

"Bless you," the doctor interjected helpfully, carefully hiding all but the edges of his smile in his teacup. Was he actually _enjoying_ this awkward apology?

"And…" He swallowed painfully. "I am…truly sorry for my inexcusable conduct."

Watson smiled, though his eyes remained cast down. "It was well-deserved," he replied softly. "You had every right to be angry, for I completely ruined the entire charade."


	55. Complicated

**_Prompt #55: Complicated (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

He could not deny the truth of that. "That does not give me the excuse to behave as I did, however."

"Perhaps not," Watson agreed despondently. "But your reaction certainly is justified. I should be no less angry were one of my nurses to disobey my strict instructions, in one of my own cases."

"Your analogy is inaccurate, Doctor, because you are not _under_ me!" His already flushed face darkened. "This is not an employee-employer relationship, this…this is…" He trailed off, realising what he had nearly said.

Watson's saddened eyes flicked up, questioning and suddenly hopeful. "This is what, Holmes?"


	56. Grin

**_Prompt #56: Grin (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

"This is what, Holmes?" Watson repeated curiously, and he squirmed in his chair like a frantic puppy.

"Erm…this is…exceedingly awkward?" he hedged with a disarming grin. Unfortunately, he had months ago lost the power to deter this particular man's inquisitiveness; Watson was constantly proving to be the exception to all the rules by which his ordered mind worked.

He tried coughing vehemently in hopes that the physician's concern would cause the matter to be forgotten, but the infernal fellow merely blinked sympathetically and waited until he could breathe without his eyes watering, only to repeat the question a third time.


	57. Reveal

**_Prompt #57: Reveal (continuance of the last)_**

* * *

"Yes, well…" he gulped desperately. "I…am certain you have noticed that I do a good many things without thinking. Have for years, actually."

"Which is why, in the short time I've known you, you have been twice stabbed, once shot, and multiple times given various minor injuries due to your _not thinking_," his companion replied pointedly.

"I am capable of taking care of myself!" he retorted. "What concerns me, is that I am not capable of taking care of _you_, Doctor."

As Watson's surprise faded into a warm smile, he realised he had done it again – spoken without thinking.

Wonderful.


	58. Strange

**_Prompt #58: Strange (regular drabbles resume)_**

* * *

Watson has been reading.

He has alternately frowned in deep thought, shifted uneasily in apparent boredom, and smiled in some hidden, quiet amusement – several times each in the last hour. Under usual circumstances, his comprehension rate rivals that of anyone I have ever seen, but this time he is painstakingly reading each page three times.

I am completely bewildered, for it is merely a back-issue of the _Anthropological Journal_; not unusual for a medical man, especially one of his diversity. My suggestion that he take a rest from straining his eyes was met only with an odd, knowing smile.

Strange.

* * *

_And of course if you know your Canon, you won't have any trouble guessing what Watson's reading - but if you are as mystified as Holmes, this same drabble is cross-posted on my LiveJournal (link in my profile) with the answer._


	59. Declare

**_Prompt #59: Declare_**

**_(facepalm) I just realized the last two drabbles from the missing-in-the-rain arc never made it to FF from my LiveJournal. Woops._**

* * *

"I don't need you to take care of me, Holmes." Watson's exhausted voice floated over the disgusting-smelling concoction he was mixing. The physician set the spoon down with a small chink and held the mug out sternly, eyes twinkling. "Just don't abandon me in the East End again, eh?"

He was glad the awful brew caused his eyes to water, for then his blush seemed to be illness-related. "Erm…quite. This is _vile_, Doctor," he moaned.

The only reason he bothered to choke down the syrupy mixture was because Watson insisted he would not rest until Holmes had been fully medicated.


	60. Memorable

**_Prompt #60: Memorable_**

**_(facepalm) I just realized the last two drabbles from the missing-in-the-rain arc never made it to FF from my LiveJournal. Woops. Last one._**

* * *

Two hours later he noticed fuzzily that Watson had evidently crashed upon the sofa, where he was currently snoring soundly – that was what had woken him.

He was still lost in simple awe at this man's limitless forgiveness and simplistic affection. And if his assistance on these ventures was becoming a (admittedly welcome) habit, it was only fair that they strike some formal agreement on the matter.

It could have been the medication, or could have been a most alarming lapse of judgment, but he was at that moment quite certain the benefits outweighed the responsibilities of such a partnership.


	61. Lose

**_Prompt #61: Lose_**

* * *

Our odd traveling-companion dominates the conversation with hypochondriacal fervour, shamelessly deluging Watson with questions. Were Sholto after solutions rather than sympathy, and were Watson's reputation to be seriously damaged, I might intervene regarding the recommended strychnine-dosage.

But a stronger influence than his attraction to our client is necessary for his medical instincts to falter so; no great mental leaps are required to ascertain what and why. I am no expert regarding love, but I do feel he underestimates not only Miss Morstan's priorities, but also his own value.

Half a million or ten, she is not worthy of him.

Yet.


	62. Shame

**_Prompt #62: Shame_**

* * *

Despite that a knife was coming for his heart, he felt only a strange sense of contented peace, for the fact that he had successfully sent Watson on a fool's errand to the other side of Piccadilly. Granted, he had not counted upon being outmatched so quickly, but it was one of the foreseen possible outcomes and he accepted it with equanimity.

He was not expecting his assailant to suddenly be shot through the arm from the doorway.

"Have you not heard the adage 'fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me'?" Watson reproached, releasing him.


	63. Switch

**_Prompt #63: Switch_**

* * *

He had given those urchins work and, sometimes, anonymously sent them to school or apprenticeships. Watson had seen to skinned knees and lent a comforting shoulder to cry on when life grew too rough.

A few badly-scrawled notes, the occasional hug, and raucous enthusiasm were all the thanks they received.

But one dark night, after a duo of constables had rescued Watson and him from a group of knife-wielding roughs, Holmes scrambled to his feet and found himself looking into the much-older faces of two former Baker Street Irregulars.

And suddenly those years of investment had just paid incalculable dividends.


	64. Passage

**_Prompt #64: Passage_**

* * *

The Armistice concluded a horrific chapter of world history, but the cost had been dear indeed. Finally unable to take the strain, an aging man's heart departed England as the soldiers began marching home; and in other, less joyous, circumstances, his death might have been made more of than the respectful acknowledgement in the _Times_ and a reassignment of personnel in Whitehall.

Four weeks later, Sherlock Holmes stood in the rain before a plain grey stone, weeping into the shoulder of a khaki uniform and wondering dimly if this tumult of emotions was what Watson had felt in spring 1894.


	65. Corrupt

**Prompt #65 - Corrupt**

* * *

Holmes flicked a cautious glance up. "What sort of war is raging downstairs?"

Watson folded his arms. "Mrs. Hudson evidently washed one of your little urchins' mouths out with soap for uttering a vulgarity, apparently towards your scale of pay. The boy's defense," he continued with uplifted finger when Holmes sputtered, "was that 'Mr. 'Olmes says it!'"

The detective had the grace to blush.

"You are a corrupting influence, you know," Watson continued sternly.

"I suppose that is possible…"

"More than possible, surely. By the way, here is that evidence you told me to hide from Lestrade during the post-mortem."


	66. Splatter

**Prompt #66 - Splatter**

So...apologies for the Holmes-hiatus? I'm afraid my muse has been refusing to cooperate on anything other than my Star Trek fiction and my NaNo (which is nearly done at almost 77,000 words, and I won!). Hopefully soon I'll be back writing on my WIPs again.

**

* * *

**

Sherlock Holmes rose punctually at seven, and it took earth-shattering factors to rouse him earlier. Factors like a freezing draught writhing, ice-crystalline, about his head.

The resulting screech woke the residents of 223B. Unable to locate his slippers, he hopped from rug to sitting-room carpet before his new fellow-lodger jerked back from the window-ledge.

"What the _devil_ d'you think you're _doing_?!"

"It's _snowing_, Holmes!"

Ah, Afghanistan. Deserts. Three years. Excitement…somewhat logical.

_NOT_ at half-past-five in the morning.

Mrs. Hudson never could get out of them who was responsible for the spherical splotches of damp soaking the carpet an hour later.


	67. Obvious

**Prompt #67 - Obvious**

* * *

Well past midnight, he finally heard the automobile. Throwing on his flannel dressing-gown, he opened the door to admit flurrying ice-particles and one half-frozen physician.

"I _told _you the temperature was supposed to drop, but you _insisted_ the 'nippy drive would do you good,'" he muttered, brushing ice-fragments off his friend's shoulders.

"Worried?"

"Certainly not."

He conveniently neglected to comment that he'd spent the evening sulking, filling the house with enough noxious smoke to calm fifty hives of bees.

Watson conveniently didn't mention the three times he'd slid off the icy road into the neighboring pasture on the trip down.


	68. Anniversary

**Prompt: Anniversary**

**Words: 100**

* * *

The first anniversary found him crouching in breathless excitement outside a darkened building; the fifth, in hospital recovering from an assault in the dockyards. The tenth was spent dining with Mary, uneasy about Holmes's reticence regarding this ultimate case; the fifteenth, in equal parts grief and rejoicing over death and resurrection. The twentieth flew by unnoticed in innovation; the twenty-fifth, remarked by a jar of fresh honey. On the thirtieth he bade farewell to Britain's newest spy; the thirty-fifth, he spent among numberless white crosses.

The fortieth found him again in shared residence – and after that who needed to count?


	69. Faint

Title: Sense  
Word Count: 200 (double drabble for this one)  
Summary: For rabidsamfan's prompt of _Holmes faints from inanition at a very awkward moment_.

* * *

"I simply cannot believe," I stated through a jaw clenched against equal parts exasperation, pique, and laughter, "that you would be so idiotic as to not eat for the last three days!"

Holmes's glare began to peel the cake icing. "Doctor, _really_. You act as if I entirely disrupted the ceremony."

"Not entirely, but it was enough."

"A minor distraction."

"You _fainted_ during the wedding vows, Holmes," I reminded him dryly. "It is not tradition for one's best man to appear more nervous about the ceremony than the groom. Why on earth haven't you been eating, by the way, with no case at present?" I added, more concerned than annoyed at this point.

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Not the same, eating alone," and I felt a twinge of fond exasperation.

"Oh, Holmes…"

"Watson, do spare me your platitudes, there's a good fellow."

"Holmes, you are behaving as if you were never going to _see_ me again," I remonstrated, though his forlorn look would have melted sterner hearts than any I knew of.

"Well, shan't I?"

I reached to cuff him upside the head, endeavouring to knock some sense into his thick skull.

Mary beat me to it.


End file.
